


Cold is the Night

by balmorhea



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Daddy Issues, F/M, Family, Farmer's Market, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Han's metaphorical ghost, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mystery, Mythology References, Police investigation, Reylo - Freeform, Skywalker Family Drama, Snoke Being a Dick, fluff and feels and drama, good ol boys club, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-05-09 01:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balmorhea/pseuds/balmorhea
Summary: Farmer’s Market AUIt’s the first Saturday of May, which means opening weekend of the Falls Park Farmer’s Market season. Ben has reluctantly returned to his family home in Vermillion, South Dakota to support his newly-widowed mother and their struggling beef farm. While trying to keep the ranch afloat for one more year, Ben must also deal with the unexpected loss of his father and begins to question the line that separates tragedy from intent. As he pieces together his father’s final moments, Snoke, the CEO of the industrial First Order Farms, jumps on the opportunity to buy Skywalker Ranch. Unswayed by the family’s refusal, Snoke doubles down on the pressure to force their hand.While Ben is counting down the days until he can help his mother sell the farm, tolerating the Market Weekends in the process, the Pasque Valley Farm booth—with the charming girl Rey and her beautiful cut flowers—provides a gentle reprieve for a family torn apart by loss.





	1. Opening Weekend

“Ben!”

Ben jumped out of his skin, whipping around to look for the source of his name. “Jesus Christ,” he swore under his breath, visibly deflating.

“What have I told you about coming into the house like that?” Leia admonished, entering the mudroom. Her face was wrinkled in disgust at her son’s bloodstained clothes. She swatted at Ben with her rolled up magazine, ushering him back outside.

“I don’t have any cell signal in the barn,” Ben told her, allowing himself to be pushed back into the garden. He watched the signal bars disappear from his phone before pocketing it.

“What do you need your phone for? You’re helping Uncle Chewie get the beef ready for tomorrow.”

Ben wasn’t swayed. “We’re almost done.”

Leia sighed, running a hand through her windswept hair, which was pulled back into a once-neat knot. Her eyes searched her son’s face carefully. “Are you sure you want to go alone? I can come with—“

“It’s fine,” Ben said for the hundredth time that month. It was the thirty-first of March, which meant he had been back in his hometown of Vermillion, South Dakota for twenty-six days, and it also meant his father had been dead for twenty-eight.

He fixed his mother with a long look, taking in the worry etched in the lines of her face. She wasn’t a young woman, but Han’s death had aged her prematurely. Her shoulders sunk around a back that was now slightly hunched, and her eyes always seemed to be looking for something far away. The day after Han died was the only day Leia took off from work since the birth of their son, and she was determined to keep the farm operating as normal. Ben worried that work was his mother’s way of ignoring all the pains in her life.

“Are you sure?” Leia asked again, softer this time. Her hand found Ben’s face, a foot higher than her own, and she ran a thumb over his smooth cheek. “It’s a long drive, and you’ll have to set up—“

“It’s fine, mom,” Ben repeated. He took his mother’s hand in his, squeezing it once before letting go. He hated being touched, but he was more forgiving with Leia. “Chewie and I have already loaded the freezers into the van, and I’ve got order sheets ready to go.”

“You’ll want to watch the van when you go into third gear,” Leia said, shooting the vehicle in question a sharp look. “It sticks all the time. Your father never got around to fixing it.”

Leia spoke nonchalantly, like their lives hadn’t been completely upended in the last month, but Ben’s breath caught in his throat. He froze every time someone brought up his father, especially when it was his mother talking about Han like he had just disappeared again. The old man had a tendency to do that, arguing with Leia until the tension became too much and he packed up his truck, disappearing to Rapid City or Omaha for weeks at a time. The best years of their marriage had been Leia’s time as mayor of Vermillion, because it meant she spent twice as much time in town as she did at home. But distance makes the heart grow fond, and so Ben’s parents were drawn back to each other time and time again. It was an endless cycle of extremes, tender words leading to violent fights in the kitchen long after the sun had gone down.

“I’ll see you around, kid,” were Han’s parting words each time he packed his truck. Sometimes he would offer Ben a clap on the shoulder, perhaps a mischievous wink or an empty promise, but Han always drove off to some new, unnamed location without him. Those early years were spent pressed up against the window, ears constantly turned to the long drive that wound past their house, always waiting. Soon Ben was nearly as tall as Han and he began to look forward to the fights that led to his father walking out. It wasn’t long before he hoped that this time would finally be the last time because he was well past forgiveness.

Ben hadn’t spoken to his father in five years, and the last words exchanged had been full of anger and hate. Han returned the barbs with equal ferocity, but it was Ben who drove the final wedge between them. Something cruel and angry was blistering in Ben, its roots deep in his soul after years of resentment. He had been searching for something from his father that day, but it was the final disappointment in a long line of disappointments. In the end it was a burden Ben would have to bury before it buried him, and Ben was determined to never need anything from his father again.

It had been Chewie who called Ben the morning after Han died, his voice thick with grief. Ben listened silently until both men hung up, and spent most of the day going about his routine. It wasn’t that he was callous; it simply took the duration of the day for Chewie’s words to string themselves together into sentences that made sense. And when they did, when Ben finally understood that his father was dead, he howled with grief for a man who had done nothing to deserve his tears.

“Maybe Chewie can take a look at it when I get back,” Ben suggested, trying to keep his voice natural. He brushed a stray lock of hair from his face, turning to look toward the barn where Chewie was packaging the last cuts of beef for the weekend’s opening at the Falls Park farmer’s market in Sioux Falls.

“When you do get back,” Leia segued. Her tone was hesitant and cagey, which caused Ben to turn around and frown at her. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Ben’s dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. “About what?”

But Leia brushed him off, all crossed arms and flippant words. “Just work stuff. It’s not a big deal but I know you’re busy, so try to find time in your schedule the next few days.”

That did nothing to ease his anxiety.

“Mom—“

“Later,” she interrupted, waving her magazine at him. She opened it to an earmarked page, scanning the words and a bright picture. “I’m fixing to get supper ready—ask Chewie if he wants to stick around, I found this enchilada recipe I want to try.”

Outsiders would think Leia wasn’t grieving the loss of her husband at all, but Ben knew better. Leia hated cooking; it was one of the few things she had no aptitude for, and their bellies had all suffered for it through the years. But Leia preferred to keep herself busy, as though working her bones into the ground could stave off Han’s ghost that shared her bed late at night. Cooking was as good of a distraction as any.

Ben, always softened by his mother, relented.

Luke joined them as well, pulling up the spare chair rather than sitting in Han’s vacant one. He lived in Sioux Falls, but made a point to make the long drive in order to have dinner with Leia every night since Han died. They all made casual conversation, their eyes darting to the empty space at the end of the table before asking if anyone wanted seconds. Ben poked at his food, listening rather than talking. Once or twice Luke tried to ask about Ben’s life in Atlanta, but it was a sore subject in this house and so Ben brushed him off with short answers.

Leia refused help with the dinner dishes, and so Luke and Chewie took their leave for the night, leaving Ben and Leia alone together. Ben’s falling out with Han had long-reaching consequences, and a fragile relationship with his mother and all the others was one of them.

“I should get to bed,” he said not long after his uncles had left. He wasn’t tired, but he couldn’t force himself to have a shallow conversation while Leia scrubbed the dishes clean by hand, standing in front of a dishwasher that worked just fine a month ago.

“Okay,” Leia said from the sink. She didn’t turn around, too focused on keeping Han’s ghost away. “I’ll be up to see you off in the morning.”

That wasn’t necessary, but Ben kept his mouth shut. He offered a tiny kiss against Leia’s cheek, his hand momentarily resting on her delicate shoulder. It was the way he had learned to say goodnight to his mother during those times when Han wasn’t there to do it himself, and the habit stuck.

Ben had his childhood bedroom, though it looked nothing like the way it had when he left. The old posters and school awards had been packed away and stored carefully in the attic, and the bedspread was different. Cleaner, he realized. Ben shut the door softly, moving toward one of the windows and forcing it open. He would need to talk to his mother about replacing these; they wouldn’t handle another harsh winter. While his thoughts wandered around the room, Ben pulled out a cigarette from his pack and lit it, careful to blow the smoke downwind.

In his teens he often smoked in secret, hiding in the barn, the cow pasture, or behind the pile of trucks Han was always tinkering with. It was a habit he picked up from his father and Chewie, a habit Leia would murder him over if she found out.

He didn’t like being back. It wasn’t just because of the circumstances; Ben would have hated returning to this house for any reason. He hated that he knew where all the creaking floorboards were, that he could make the long drive from his house to Uncle Luke’s old place with his eyes shut, that he knew exactly how far it was to the Vermillion River to the east and how it flooded in the spring and dried up in the fall. He knew these places like he knew his own skin and he wanted to rip it out. It was like this house and the whole town around it was a part of him, something that he clutched in his fist and could not let go.

Ben stubbed out his cigarette on the exterior trim of his window before tucking it away in an empty Altoids tin. He glared out over the ranch, obscured by darkness, before shutting the window.

 

* * *

 

A hand waving in front of her face brought Rey back to reality.

“Huh?”

“Did you even sleep last night?” Finn asked her, eyebrows raised.

“’Course I did,” Rey lied, swallowing back the yawn that triggered. She cleared her throat, willing her senses to sharpen, and went back to writing their chalkboard sign. She had picked up an extra shift at the Avera-McKennan Hospital each week after learning that her father’s illness had recently cost him his job. Usually the night shifts involved basic tasks: bed care, patient errands, and endless babysitting; but this recent shift put her in the gero-psych ward. Rey vowed to find a way to off herself if she was ever diagnosed with dementia.

“There’s fifteen new vendors this year,” Finn told her, stepping around the table and looking down the long line of booths. “Hopefully that adds some foot traffic. Last year was shit for sales.”

Rey looked around their surroundings. The market was set up in the park nearest to downtown Sioux Falls, with all the vendors lined up along the parking lot and underneath the park shelter. It was the first Saturday of May, which meant the first day of the season. It was too early to have much in terms of produce, so most of the vendors offered seedlings and sprouts, dairy products, and homemade wares. Rey spotted a homemade ice cream stand located next to a Vietnamese food truck, and made a mental note to check it out. There was also jam, eggs, honey, fresh flowers, and various cuts of meat. Rey and Finn had two tables set up around Finn’s family pick up truck, adorned with seedlings for peppers and tomatoes, fresh cut flowers, and a small crate of duck eggs. Finn didn’t have high hopes for their sales until late June, when their produce was ready to pick, but Rey was ecstatic for the job. She was still working weekends at the pub when she wasn’t at the hospital, but it wasn’t enough to cover both her rent and tuition, especially now that her family needed more support.

Rey held up the chalkboard sign to Finn. It listed the prices of their seedlings and flowers, each line written out in fancy script. She had even added a few daisies in the corners to dress it up. “What do you think?”

“I think that sign will lure everyone here,” Finn told her.

Rey grimaced, embarrassed, but held it out to inspect it again.

“Tie it down,” Finn suggested, tossing her a thin length of rope from the bed of the truck. “The wind’s supposed to pick up today, and it’s going to suck if it blows away.”

Rey did as instructed, admiring her display. The plastic tables were adorned with floral tablecloths and the cut flowers were neatly arranged in the bed of the pick up truck, propped up on old crates so their bright colors could easily be seen from a distance.

It was barely eight-thirty in the morning, but the walkways were already filling with people, eager to enjoy a true springtime activity after a harsh winter that nearly went on forever. Finn was handling the cash register, and so Rey took the opportunity to explore the other vendors before it got too busy.

There was so much to look at, and Rey wished she had enough money to try a little of everything. One vendor had a goat cheese sampling platter while another offered flavor-infused honey sticks for twenty-five cents apiece. Rey decided she could allow herself to spend ten dollars, and so she investigated all of the other vendors to decide what she wanted to spend that money on most.

When she returned to her own booth, traffic was picking up. It was forecast to be a hot day, which Finn said meant more potential customers. Last year it rained throughout the whole month of May, dropping hail on the handful of vendors who braved the tornado watch.

Two summers of working on Finn’s family farm meant Rey was an expert in the crops they sold. She was able to explain how much sunlight everything needed, how to adjust for acidic or alkaline soil, and so she had already sold half their peppers and most of their tomatoes before the day was half over.

“Mother’s day is coming up,” Rey frequently told the customers who ogled her fresh flowers but hesitated to purchase. “It’s nearly a hundred bucks to have them delivered, but for ten dollars a bunch you can give her the biggest bouquet she’s ever seen.”

“Okay,” Finn said after Rey had sold a dozen bundles of baby peonies to the same customer. “You could sell water to a drowning man.”

Rey shook her head. “I just want to do a good job.”

“My cousin has already decided you’re going to be in her wedding, so I don’t think they’ll fire you.”

“Well, your cousin’s five, and I don’t want to act like this job is special treatment.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Give it a few more weeks—hauling crates of vegetables back and forth, sitting in the sun when it’s a hundred degrees outside… Then you’ll see that there’s nothing special about this at all.”

But Rey was eyeing the ice cream vendor across the street. “I want to try some,” she told Finn, pointing. “D’you want any?”

Finn reached into the cash register and withdrew a ten dollar bill. “For yours, too,” he insisted, giving Rey a knowing look. She tried to protest, but he shook the bill at her. “It’s a business expense, and I’m technically your supervisor, so don’t argue.”

Rey took the bill, shaking her head at him but smiling.

“Get me something that isn’t weird.”

“What’s considered weird?”

“I’m pretty sure they have bean curd. They sell it in the restaurant.”

“What, the Vietnamese place?”

“Yeah, they’re connected,” Finn told her. “The parents own the restaurant, but the daughters make the ice cream themselves.”

Rey nodded. “Bean curd it is.”

“No—Rey—“

But Rey had already disappeared into the crowd. She wove between some of the slowest walkers on earth before she made it to the table propped next to the food truck. There was an obscenely long line for _bun cha_ and _banh xeo,_ which made Rey’s stomach grumble in hunger. Maybe at the end of the day, if the food truck was still there, she might be able to get herself a small side item.

“Hi!”

Rey was brought back to reality, and realized the younger of the two women working the table was waiting for her.

“Er, hi,” Rey said, scanning the contents of the display freezer in front of her.

“You work at the space with all the flowers, right?”

Rey turned to see where the girl was pointing.

“Er, yeah, that’s me. Not my flowers,” she added quickly. “I’m just an employee. Pasque Valley Farms.”

She pointed at the food truck. “Tico Pho.”

“I’ve never eaten there,” Rey told her, ignoring the rumbling that had started back up in her stomach.

“Then you’ve probably never tried our gelato,” she said, brightening. “Paige and I make it ourselves!”

“What’s the difference between gelato and ice cream?”

“Gelato’s made slower than ice cream, so it’s dense. There’s also a bit less fat in it.”

Rey leaned over and studied the freezer, reading the little labels that described their flavors. There was the basic chocolate, vanilla, and peanut butter, but then there was also matcha, rosemary lemonade, Dr. Pepper, lavender, and sea salt with honey.

“It all looks so good,” Rey admitted. “I can’t decide.”

The woman reached into a jar of wooden sample spoons and scooped out two flavors at random. She handed them to Rey, saying, “The cardamom’s my favorite, but Paige really likes the cinnamon-oatmeal. Here.”

Rey tried them both and instantly melted. “You make this?” She said, impressed.

The other woman smiled, nodding. “We just sell it here and out of the restaurant, but Paige really wants to open our own place—have a full freezer with all kinds of flavors.”

“I’ll take the cinnamon-oatmeal for my friend, and then the lavender for me,” Rey told her, fidgeting with the money Finn had given her.

“Cone or cup?”

“Er… cup,” Rey finally decided.

With the gelato in hand, Rey began the short trek back to her own table. “Cinnamon-oatmeal,” she announced, handing Finn his cup.

He took a bite, nodding in appreciation. “Holy shit, that’s good.”

Rey sat down on the truck bed next to him.

“Hey, I need you to do me a favor,” Finn said, looking over his shoulder and squinting. The sun was directly overhead. “Take some of these flowers and make a bouquet. Nothing fancy—but it’s for the folks at Skywalker Ranch.”

“Who’re they?” Rey asked, already halfway through her scoop of gelato.

“They run the beef farm down in Vermillion. They’ve been coming here for years. Their old man died last month.”

Rey’s face fell slightly. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah, so I just got a text from my aunt. She wants us to give them some flowers—shows we’re thinking about them.”

Rey wiped the stickiness from her lips as she searched through the remainder of their cut flowers for the best stems. She made a small arrangement of pink peonies, some Peruvian lilies, and a couple amaryllis for color. “Where are they at?” She asked, tying off the makeshift bouquet.

Finn pointed toward the left. “About a dozen tables down—big white van. You’ll see it.”

Rey rejoined the crowd, careful to keep the flowers clutched to her chest so they wouldn’t be crushed. She had to move around more of the world’s slowest walkers, squeezing between narrow spaces to get ahead. Finally she spotted the van Finn mentioned, an ancient rusted monster of a vehicle with a peeling decal that read “Skywalker Ranch” over an image of a steer’s horns.

Rey wormed her way to the front, awkwardly standing to the side while the only employee worked out an order. She read and re-read their sign four times, wondering what part of the cow created all the different cuts. She hadn’t eaten meat in over a year—mostly it was too expensive, but she also couldn’t stomach the idea of eating something that had died. She was pretty sure she was losing the taste for it, too, and—

“Can I help you?”

Rey jumped, brought back to the present for the third time that day. Her eyes immediately latched on to a pair of dark ones, watching her with the faintest hint of impatience.

“Er, these are for you,” Rey said, holding out the flowers without ceremony.

He dropped his gaze to look at them, but didn’t move.

“For your family,” Rey clarified, feeling stupid. “The… Skywalker family.”

“Solo.”

“Sorry?” She said, not understanding. The flowers were still clutched in her hand, and her arm dropped.

He shook his head. “Never mind. Thank you,” he added pointedly, reaching for the flowers. Rey watched as he retreated toward the van and dropped them inside one of the deep refrigerators. She supposed it made sense—refrigeration preserved flowers—but the unexpectedness caught her off guard and so she stared. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling like he had just thrown them in the trash.

“Sorry about your loss,” Rey offered, inwardly cringing at the carefree way she spoke those words. They were hollow anyway, but she knew she should at least sound like she was sad.

His gaze found hers again, and Rey felt like he was seeing inside of her.

“I work down at the Pasque Valley Farm,” she offered, as though this explained why a stranger was bringing him flowers. “That’s where the flowers came from.”

He nodded, hands on his hips.

Rey pointed back to her own booth. “So I’ll just be going, then.”

She had expected more; his name, perhaps a handshake… But this strange man just turned his attention away from Rey like she was already long gone. Before Rey could feel offended, he was chatting with a new customer over the details of grass-fed beef. She hesitated for a few moments, wondering if she ought to catch his eye again and make a big show of saying goodbye to embarrass him.

But he had just lost a family member, and so Rey could forgive him his rudeness this time. She allowed herself to disappear back into the crowd, walking back to her table with a heavier heart than the one with which she left.

Finn caught the flattened expression when she returned. “What?”

Rey cleared her throat, forcing her face to brighten as she scanned the crowd for potential customers. “Nothing.”

“Uh huh.”

Rey waved a dismissive hand. “It was just awkward, that’s all.”

“That’ll be eleven-fifty,” Finn told a customer at the register. He put the money away and turned back to Rey. “Who was there? Leia?”

Rey shrugged. “He didn’t give me his name—“

“Younger guy?”

“I guess.”

“That must be Ben. Their son,” he added at Rey’s questioning look.

The man’s poor attitude made more sense in context, and Rey almost felt guilty for being annoyed with him in the first place. “If his dad just died, why does he come here? I don’t think I’d want to deal with all the comments… people asking questions…”

Finn shrugged.

Rey thought of her own parents, living alone in her hometown of Hartford and struggling to survive. Rey herself had dropped out of high school at sixteen so she could work two jobs and keep the lot rent paid. Her father struggled with some unknown chronic illness—they were too poor to see a doctor—and so Rey supported them all while her mother nursed her father. She had always dreamed of going to college to be a nurse so she could help her parents, and so she studied for her GED at nineteen and enrolled in South Dakota University this past fall at twenty-one years old. She was embarrassed to be a freshman at the same age that most of her peers were seniors, but she tried to tell herself none of that would matter once she had her degree.

 _If that ever happened_ , she thought darkly. Rey was a determined but academically mediocre student, and the pressures of working combined with higher education were starting to wear her down. She was grateful for the summer term—it meant only one class—and Rey was determined to enter her sophomore year fresh-faced and ready to take on some of the nursing program’s notorious pre-requisite classes. Mostly she was grateful for the extra hours at Pasque Valley Farm, because it was money she could put away in savings and rely on during the school year when she needed to study for mid-terms and finals.

“You talk to your folks?” Finn asked, pulling water bottles out from beneath one of the tables and handing one to Rey. He seemed to have sensed Rey was thinking about her own parents, which was admittedly often.

“Yeah, the other day,” Rey told him. “Dad’s not doing too well. He says he missed too many days at work so they fired him.”

Finn frowned, but it was tight-lipped. “That sucks.”

“And Mom says she’s got to stay home with him—give him these injections every few hours—“

“What kind of injections?”

Rey shrugged. “Something for the blood, I think.”

Finn’s frown hadn’t left his face. “I thought they didn’t go to the doctor.”

“They went once,” Rey said, feeling defensive. She knew what Finn thought about her parents—what everyone else had told her for years. But it wasn’t their fault they were poor, and it certainly wasn’t their fault that her dad was too sick to work. “Said he had diabetes. Or pre-diabetes. They couldn’t remember.”

“That sucks,” Finn allowed. “So why can’t he work?”

Rey tried not to feel annoyed. “Because his illness makes him sick all the time—sick to his stomach—and then there’s the pain in his legs, and he oversleeps a lot because his body’s trying to recover, and—“

“Okay, I get it.”

He was turned away, staring toward the crowd in the distance. His arms were folded across his chest, and Rey was filled with the wild urge to defend her parents—and by extension, herself.

“Someone’s got to take care of them,” she told Finn quietly.

“Sure,” Finn agreed. “That’s what Social Security is for. Or their church. Or, y’know, maybe they could spend a little less on booze—“

“They don’t spend that much—“

“I’ve been in their house, Rey, and so have you,” he told her firmly. “Maybe I just see it with different eyes—but I’ve been in a lot of houses and seen a lot of families, and I think they’re taking advantage of you.”

It was Rey’s turn to cross her arms and glower. “And I think you’re too quick to judge—not everyone is a criminal.”

Finn gave her a look, but didn’t respond.

Finn was a few years older than Rey, and their friendship had begun in an unlikely place. He was a newly-minted cop with the Sioux Falls police department, though he still honored his obligations to his uncle’s farm and helped out when he could. He and Rey had known each other for a year before actually exchanging names and having a real conversation. Rey was a waitress at the pub Finn and his partner, Jessika Pava, liked to frequent. She had also seen Finn a few times during her shifts at the hospital, and eventually the repeat contact had blossomed into a friendship. Finn got Rey a seasonal job on his family farm while she saved up for college, and eventually the two spent their very limited free time together whenever possible.

“I just want you to be smart,” Finn finally told her. “And safe.”

Rey was determined to be annoyed, but his worry softened her heart. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know. But you also think you can take care of everyone else, too.”

The rest of the afternoon remained busy, and so it was nearly two hours past the official close time before vendors began to pack up their leftover wares. There were only a handful of mismatched flowers remaining, and so Rey began to pass them out to a few friendly faces, starting with the Tico sisters.

“They’re beautiful!” The younger of the sisters—Rose, she introduced herself as—exclaimed. “Wait here—“ Rose hurried to the window of her parents’ food truck and exchanged a few sentences in a language Rey didn’t understand, but a moment later she was handing Rey a paper-wrapped bundle of spring rolls.

“Oh—I can’t—“ Rey began even as the illogical, hungry side of her brain commanded her to buy them.

“No charge,” Rose told her. “We always have a few bits left over at the end of the day—one year my parents ran out of food before noon and people actually got angry. Can you believe it? So now they always make extra.”

Rey shared her spring rolls with Finn, who bit into it warily. He seemed to approve, because then he somehow managed to fit the rest of it into his mouth in a single bite.

With the public gone, the vendors meandered down the path as they half-cleaned, half-socialized with the others. Rey and Finn packed up their truck, securing the crates and now-folded tables with rope. Rey straightened up, wiping sweat from her brow, and her eyes fell on a familiar figure hovering near Rose’s booth. He was smiling at the elder of the sisters, accepting two styrofoam-encased packages of food stuffed into a grocery sack. Rey watched as Ben lingered, chatting animatedly with Paige while she smiled broadly at him, apparently forgetting that she was supposed to be helping Rose clean up.

Then the elderly Tico mother suddenly appeared, pushing Paige out of the way while she handed several folded bills of cash to Ben. “Pae-pae, you need to help your sister!” She barked to the elder daughter before turning back to Ben. “I already called your mother with the order.”

Paige offered one sly grin at Ben—which he returned—before helping Rose clean out the interior of the food truck.

Ben thanked the mother before turning around. He must have sensed Rey staring, because their eyes met across the path instantly. Rey faltered, caught in the act. She had no explanation for why she had been eavesdropping except that he was so tall and just _there,_ and her attention just gravitated toward him _…_ Rey reached for the last amaryllis, the one she had been intending to take home, and held it out for Ben.

“This one’s for you,” she told him.

Perhaps he wouldn’t react well to being put on the spot—to being reminded of his loss—but Rey knew what it was like to support a family and so she felt obligated to give him something nice, to show him that the world wasn’t completely dark. She couldn’t offer him a hot meal like the Tico family, so her flowers would have to do.

He took the bright red flower from her gently. The annoyed expression he had worn that morning was gone, replaced by something soft and curious.

“See you next week,” Rey told him brightly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear and joining Finn in the cab of their pick-up truck.

 


	2. Live and Die

Leia was surrounded by paperwork at the kitchen table when Ben returned home that evening. She looked up, spotting the goods in Ben’s hands.

“Who’s the admirer?” She teased, eyeing the flowers with a wicked smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Tough luck,” Ben told her, handing his mother the bouquet before setting the Vietnamese food on the counter and searching for plates. “They’re for you. The family,” he clarified.

Leia examined the pretty blooms. “Who are they from?”

“Pasque Valley Farm,” Ben told her, repeating the name the girl had given him that morning. He had tucked his amaryllis in with the rest of the bouquet, too embarrassed to handle his mother’s probing questions if she knew he had been gifted his own private bloom.

“Oh, that’s the Larsen family,” Leia said.

Ben brought two plates of food and over to the table. “What’s all this?” He asked, pushing a stack of papers off to the side to make room.

Leia looked down, as though surprised. “Oh—this is from the coroner, and this is all information I got from the funeral home. I’m trying to decide if we should bury him in the family plot—your father always thought it was creepy.” Her tone was light, but the deadened look hadn’t left her eyes.

Ben sat down, his appetite suddenly cold. He reached for a price sheet and frowned. Han’s body could stay in Ben’s Atlanta condo for eight months at this rate…

“Cremation’s a bit cheaper,” Leia added softly.

It was like they were talking about their old family dog, Artoo, who had died in Ben’s childhood. While Ben supposed a collected Leia was better than a sobbing one—Ben could certainly use some level-headed help with his father’s end-of-life preparations—he couldn’t help but feel unnerved by his mother’s behavior. He was sure she would crack if she suffered one more loss.

“So what was it you wanted to talk about?” Ben asked, changing the subject.

“What? Oh—“ Leia pushed the papers away, toward Han’s side of the table, and folded her arms. Her eyes trailed over her plate of food, but she made no move to touch it. “I wanted to talk to you about your plans.”

“I thought you said it was ‘work stuff.’”

“It is, technically.”

Ben shrugged, picking up a spring roll and forcing himself to take a bite. “I mean, I’ve got a sublease on my condo through the new year,” he finally said. “And I can stay longer if you need me…”

Leia nodded her understanding.

Ben had been living in Atlanta, Georgia the last eight years. He finished his bachelor’s degree there before taking on a PhD program in environmental engineering, and was in the process of interviewing for jobs when Chewie had called him with the news. He had a sometimes-girlfriend, and they had agreed to let things cool down while Ben returned home to deal with the mess Han left behind.

“The farm’s still not making any money, right?” Ben dared to ask.

Leia sighed, and a dark shadow passed over her face. “It’s tight,” she said. “It’s always tight.”

“If I’m going to help, you have to tell me the truth,” Ben told her.

Leia waved a hand, leaning back in her chair. “These things—one year you can turn a profit, but if you’re already in debt… just like how you can take a small loss after a good year…”

Ben watched her with narrowed eyes. Leia was a strict accountant, so he interpreted her half-speak as confirmation that Skywalker Ranch was not doing well.

“If we cut down on overhead, we might come out ahead next spring,” Leia continued.

“We have two employees—how much overhead is left?”

Leia rubbed a hand along the back of her neck, her thoughts faraway.

“You should eat,” Ben told her, pointing to her plate with his fork. Leia picked hers up immediately, taking a single bite before setting it down again.

“Well, we’re still doing a calf-cow operation,” Leia explained, folding and unfolding her napkin as she spoke. “Not including the calves, we’ve got 400 cows grazing to nearly 800 acres… and we are still purchasing grass from the Warners down the road… Chewie and I did the math, and it’ll be cheaper to try some artificial feed to supplement… we can lease out about 400 acres to the Warners—I’ve already talked to them—and maybe in a year or two they’ll be interested in buying.”

“The whole farm?”

“No, the 400 acres.”

Ben swallowed. “If we piece up the farm any more, there won’t be any farm left.”

Leia waved at nothing in particular, shaking her head.

“Why not sell the whole thing?” Ben suggested. He supposed now was as good of a time as any to broach the subject. “Animals, equipment—all of it.”

“What about the house?”

“We sell that, too.”

Leia did not like that idea, and her face indicated as much.

“You can get a new house,” Ben told her. “In town, or up in Sioux Falls…”

“And what about Chewie?” Leia asked testily. “What is he supposed to do if we sell?”

Ben tried to stay patient. He moved his food around on his plate, trying to look indifferent. “Get a different job, I guess—maybe he can still work here since he knows the farm—“

Leia scoffed.

“You can’t seriously keep the place running just to keep somebody employed, not if you’re not making any money—”

“We just need a really good summer, and a forgiving winter afterwards,” Leia said. It sounded akin to a prayer. “The cows’ll fatten up and we won’t have to barn them up as long as we did this last year. That’s what cost us. Last year’s grazing season was barely four months before the cold came and killed off all the grass. The farm’s supposed to go to you—that’s what we agreed on—it’s your only inheritance.”

Ben looked across the table toward Han’s empty chair, choosing his next words carefully. “What if I didn’t want to keep the farm?”

Leia’s eyes were boring into him like she had never heard of such a ludicrous idea. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t think I want to make a career off farming—“

“But that’s what you went to school for—“

“No, I went to school for engineering,” Ben corrected her. “For pollution control, or resource management.”

Leia was taken aback by this revelation.

“I’m only telling you so you don’t feel obligated to keep the farm on my account,” he told his mother, feeling guilty. “I’d rather you sell it and have enough money to get yourself a nice house, a little retirement, and be comfortable. Especially now.”

Leia picked up her plate and opened the fridge to stuff it inside, but eventually decided against it. Her plate clattered against the counter. “I’m not that old,” she told Ben coolly, refusing to look at him as she exited the kitchen.

Ben watched her go, trying to understand why his mother was mad at him. In the end, he could only determine that she was torn between grieving Han’s death and stressing over the fate of their farm. But that was why Ben was here: to help bury his father, and then help Leia sell off the farm. He couldn’t stay here forever, helping Chewie fulfill orders, birthing the spring calves, or running the booth in the Sioux Falls farmer’s market every year… He had a life in Atlanta, a good one—one he had worked very hard to build…

Ben, his appetite gone, stared at his plate before he decided he couldn’t force himself to eat another bite. He re-packed his and Leia’s plates, but when he opened the fridge, he stared.

It was crammed with mismatched Tupperware and casserole dishes, each carefully wrapped and labeled. None of these dishes were Leia’s doing; they must have come from the neighbors, old coworkers, and people in town… Physical evidence of the thoughts and prayers that had haunted them since Han’s death… Ben played a frustrating game of Tetris, removing a dozen bottles of half-used condiments and rearranging the gifted meals to fit the Tico leftovers inside. As he forced the refrigerator door shut and waited to ensure it didn’t pop open, he wondered why on earth his mom was attempting to cook when there were so many meals to get through…

It was still light out, so Ben decided to run a few errands to keep his mind busy. He had always hated being in this house, and he hated it even more knowing it was full of ghosts. Ben donned his boots in the mudroom, pulling an old hoodie over his head before venturing outside.

His mother was with the goats; he could hear them bleating at her from the barn like a bunch of screaming children. Ben decided to allow her some privacy and instead fired up the ancient Ford parked in the grass. He wound his way through the various gates that divided the property before entering the expansive grazing fields. The cows were left to roam freely in the spring and summer months, and he figured they were probably in the low hills near the Vermillion River. Ben followed the old dirt tracks, a path carved by his great-grandfather and reinforced by the following generations over the years.

Eventually he crested a hill and put the truck into park, cutting off the engine.

The Vermillion River was smooth as glass, reflecting the brilliant gold and orange sunset in the distance. A good portion of the cows were huddled around a nearby stream, their tails lazily flicking as they grazed.

This had been one of Han’s favorite places on the farm. It was far enough away from the house that he could smoke in peace, playing whatever game was currently happening over the truck’s radio. More importantly, Han believed it offered one of the best views in all of Vermillion: it was near the bluff that ran along the river, high above any surrounding land. The town lights flickered in the distance and there was open sky as far as the eye could see. Han often let Ben drive the truck back here in the evenings, where they would just sit in the cab and watch the sky change colors. Sometimes Han would tell him stories, usually white-washed myths and fairy tales inspired from the legends of the various Sioux tribes who used to live on this land.

There were a number of stories about ghosts and monsters, which Ben insisted on hearing but then dreamt about later, of the Snake Brothers and Double-Face… legends of heroes and victorious warriors, of gods and the earth itself…

“Everything has a spirit,” Han had told him during one of these many trips to the far corners of their farm. It was a night like tonight, balmy with a brilliant orange sky and a gentle breeze. Ben had been angry then, upset by some earlier altercation the adult him could no longer recall, but had listened to his father while he glared out his open window. “The trees, the rocks… you see the way the Vermillion River moves, swelling up with each breath and then lowering again when it exhales… Sometimes it’s full of life and fury… or days like today, where it flows gently toward the south… The Indians believe they’re all living, breathing things—“

“They’re not called Indians,” Ben muttered, still glaring out the open window.

Han waved an impatient hand. “Okay, the _natives._ Is that better?”

Ben didn’t answer him.

Han lit a cigarette and took a drag before continuing as though there had been no interruption. “Our own lives are short so we don’t see it, but the tribes who lived here before believe everything on this earth lives and then dies, then lives again in the spirit world. A paradise in the afterlife, called the Happy Hunting Ground, a place where game is plentiful and the spirits want for nothing.”

Ben could sense Han looking at him, gauging his reaction. Ben loved these stories as a child, but he was growing older, more cynical. One day Ben would be a grown man and Han would lose this easy connection to his only son. Their relationship was already tumultuous, but when had it started?

“It’s different than our version of heaven, because this afterlife isn’t located in the sky with some nosy celestial being,” Han continued, taking another drag off his cigarette and flicking the ash. “It’s not a reward. You don’t get there by tithing or praying, but by respecting the life around you. ‘Following the Red Road,’ they call it. Well, white folks call it that, anyway.” He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s about being connected to the moment, to the place around you, to Mother Earth and Father Sky. You get there by only taking what you need and giving back what you can afford, by keeping the balance. When you don’t keep the balance, that’s following the Black Road. The path of destruction.”

Han had turned to face him, waiting until his son returned his gaze. “Do you understand, now?”

A young Ben could feel himself crying and wiped furiously at his cheeks.

“I didn’t put down those calves to be heartless. You know that. They were too fragile, too sick to survive. They would have only suffered and then died suffering. Death can seem cruel, but it’s only because we can’t see what’s on the other side.”

That’s right. Ben remembered why he had been so angry with his father that day.

“They were just babies—“ a young Ben insisted from the passenger seat, as though the universe should have taken this into account before damning them instantly.

“They were,” Han agreed. “But if you believe in the Happy Hunting Ground, then you know they’re with their little cow ancestors, grazing on hills that stretch on ten thousand times further than our farm. You don’t have to cry for them.”

A much older Ben, sitting in his father’s seat of the old Ford, wiped at his face and glared at the old familiar hills around him, at the gold ribbon of the winding Vermillion River reflecting the orange sky back at itself. He didn’t believe in the old myths, and he doubted whether Han had, either. But as he waited for the sun to go down and for the stars to emerge from a darkening sky, lighting the way to the afterlife, Ben couldn’t help but feel like the earth understood something he didn’t. Perhaps Han had found his way to the Red Road, and the ghost Ben felt was simply Han’s spirit making its way toward paradise.

 

* * *

 

As if to match Ben’s mood, the next day brought violent and gloomy weather. Spring was a short transition period between the two real seasons in South Dakota: summer and winter. Now that they were in May and the start of summer, turbulent storms began to roll their way across the open expanse of prairie.

Leia was already up, watching the rain pool first into puddles—and then a respectable pond—near the edge of their long, gravel driveway. She looked at Ben when she heard him enter the kitchen.

“I think we should go with cremation,” she told him flatly.

Ben froze in front of the coffee pot, momentarily stunned. “Okay,” he replied, forcing his brain and limbs back into activity.

Leia waved her hand in the space between herself and the kitchen window. “I don’t want to bury him in all this.”

Ben didn’t follow the logic, but he was relieved that his mother finally made a decision. Han’s body still hadn’t been released from the coroner, but at least they could begin making preparations. “I’ll start calling around on Monday.”

“I’ve already picked Strumeyer Mortuary in Vermillion.”

Ben walked over to the table, searching through the piles of paper for their price sheet. “Shouldn’t we get another quote?”

“No, I want it done.”

Leia moved from her place at the window and marched through the adjacent mudroom, where she donned her weatherproof clothing and marched across the flooded lawn toward the barn. Chewie’s truck pulled up a few minutes later, leaving deep rivulets in the mud.

While his family distracted themselves with farm errands, Ben situated himself in the rarely-used dining room with his laptop and a notebook. For hours he researched the going price of farm equipment, beef and dairy cows, and even the land. Most of the information he found indicated that the new trend in farming was a contract agreement between farmer and supplier: the farmer provided land, equipment and labor, and the supplier offered crops or animals at a base rate plus commission. Skywalker Ranch already had beef cattle, but perhaps someone would be interested in buying them out and Leia could turn the land into soy crops… Chewie and Luke could help with planting and harvesting as there wasn’t nearly as much labor involved with agriculture…

Around midday the mudroom door opened and heavy footsteps moved through the kitchen. Ben, wanting to pass his idea by Chewie first, extracted his notebook from underneath the ancient cat Threepio and headed toward the kitchen.

But it wasn’t Chewie’s hairy, staggering form that greeted him from near the microwave. It was Uncle Luke.

“I’m reheating one of these casseroles for lunch, you want any?” Luke began amicably.

All of the fragile patience Ben reserved for his uncle was gone in a heartbeat. “No thanks,” he said flatly, moving instead to make another pot of coffee. He set his notebook on the scrubbed kitchen table, noticing that all of the funeral papers had been neatly put away.

“When do you finish school?” Luke continued, trying to make conversation with his wayward nephew.

“I graduated last year.”

“Oh. Oh, well, that’s wonderful.”

An awkward silence settled between them, filled with the weight of twelve years of sorrow and anger; twelve years with barely a glance or a greeting exchanged.

Luke was the one to break the ice. “So d’you enjoy living in Atlanta? It’s hot there, isn’t it?”

“It’s fine.”

Luke placed the casserole dish into the microwave, its gentle humming filling the gap between them.

Luke sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. “Look, Ben, I know that we aren’t close… I know we don’t really talk anymore… but I want you to know that I’m always here for you, no matter what happens. If you… if you want to talk to someone…”

“I’m fine,” Ben told him curtly, watching the coffee drip into the pot. “I’m just here for mom.”

“She’s tough,” Luke commended, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter.

“Yup.”

“I wanted to ask you…” Luke began, peering across the kitchen through the window to make sure no one was approaching the house. “How long are you planning on staying?”

Ben frowned. Luke was the first person to assume he wasn’t sticking around for good, and while it was true, it also irked him. “Until she’s settled,” he replied, referring to Leia.

“What I mean by that is that I don’t want your mom staying in this big house by herself,” Luke clarified, catching the testy tone in his nephew’s response. “So when you leave—when you go back home—I was thinking about moving in for a while.”

Ben gave a stiff shrug. “The house is half yours.”

Luke frowned at him. “Meaning what? You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“No, I think it’s fine. I just think it’s something you should talk to my mom about, because like you said, I won’t be here.”

Luke sighed, a sudden weariness to his shoulders. “Ben…”

Ben had already filled a mug but waited by the sink for his uncle to finish. His face was set into a resolute mask, the fingers of his empty hand clutching the edge of the counter.

“Whatever animosity you feel towards me… or towards your father… Right now your mother needs us. She needs us both, and I know the next few months will pass more easily for her if we tried to get along.”

Irritation flared in the pit of Ben’s stomach. “Okay,” he said, his voice full of cold sarcasm. “You got it.”

“Ben—“

“ _What?”_

The explosive anger caught Luke off guard. Whatever he had prepared to say, he swallowed it back down. His lined face wore the same mask as his nephew. “Whatever else there is… we’re here for your mother. She needs us right now. We have to work together on that.”

Ben gave his uncle a dark glare before withdrawing from the kitchen, his mug of coffee left abandoned on the counter. The front door opened and slammed shut, its echo reverberating through the house. Luke was left standing alone in the kitchen, his fragile attempt at peace thrown back in his face.

 

* * *

 

A persistent ringing was echoing in Rey’s brain and she jerked awake, staring at the notebook and worksheets in front of her. She dug through the mess for her cell phone, trying to clear the fog of sleep from her mind. When she finally found her phone, Rey had a missed call and two texts, the first one asking if she wanted to pick up a shift at the brewery that night.

Rey groaned reading it, mentally preparing a hundred different excuses for why she could say no. The money never hurt, but she hadn’t slept since the day before last and she really needed to get these worksheets done for her Dosage Calculations class.

Rey opened the second message, which was from her mother: _Call dad tell him happy bday._

Rey straightened up the pile of half-completed worksheets in front of her and stacked her pens neatly, as though organizing the mess would organize her life. She thumbed through her contacts list before dialing her father’s cell phone. He answered on the last ring.

“This is Frank.”

“Hey, dad, it’s Rey,” Rey began earnestly. Her dad didn’t reply immediately, but Rey could hear him breathing on the other line. “Happy birthday!”

He coughed, then swallowed. In the background were several indistinct voices, muffled by the distance. “Hey, Rey, it’s not really a good time for me to talk.”

“Oh—okay,” Rey replied, switching her phone to her other ear to hear better. “I just wanted to call and say happy birthday! And that I miss you. I think I’ll make it home before the fall semester starts—“

There was a muffled conversation on the other end.

“Hello?” Rey tried hesitantly.

“Can you call me later? Now’s not a good time,” her father said into the receiver. He sounded distracted.

“Er, yeah. Definitely. Maybe I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“All right.”

The call disconnected.

Rey set her phone down, filled with a strange sense of disappointment. Her father had never been a talker, but it had been weeks since she had a conversation with either of her parents that lasted beyond a few sentences.

Rey turned her attention back to her textbook, and her disappointment increased exponentially. Her surprise nap had done nothing to clear her scattered thoughts; the formulas were just as confusing as ever. The class held a study group every Friday night, but that was Rey’s coveted shift at the brewery and she couldn’t afford to lose out on the tips. Rey returned to her worksheets, looking up the formulas in her textbook. She made it through two of them before frustrated tears started welling in her eyes.

She texted two acquaintances from her class; one never replied and the other texted back to say she was working.

Rey re-opened the message from her shift supervisor, hesitating before typing out her response.

_Be there at five._

It was only a four hour shift, and Sundays were a nightmare for tips, but if Rey wasn’t going to learn anything then she might as well get a little bit of money. Perhaps getting out of her apartment would clear her mind.

Rey changed into her work clothes before stuffing a few worksheets into her purse; perhaps she would have a bit of downtime to look them over. Her ancient car turned over on the second attempt and she realized with a jolt of panic that she would need gas soon.

There was only one other waitress on duty when Rey arrived, who quickly gave Rey the more desirable section.

“Are you sure?” Rey asked with surprise as she donned her apron and clocked in.

“Yeah, I’m fucking done—the kitchen’s slow as fuck tonight ‘cause they’re all high, and Melody doesn’t understand she needs to wait _five goddamn minutes_ between tables. She’s just seating people whenever they walk in, even though she knows the kitchen’s behind.”

Rey almost regretted taking the shift, but a busy night meant more money. She would just have to put on her best face and ignore the fact that she was so tired she could cry. That’s what the pantry was for. She prepared a quick cup of extra strong coffee before walking out onto the floor.

Her first two tables were unhappy with their wait and decided a new waitress meant they needed to complain all over again. Rey assured them the kitchen was moving as quickly as possible and offered them a comped chips and dip appetizer for the trouble. Technically the wait staff weren’t supposed to prepare food, even if it meant pouring tortilla chips into a bowl and bringing it out, but Rey knew the cook on duty wouldn’t care. Rey almost had her section under control when a party of nine waltzed in. Sure enough, the hostess seated them in Rey’s section even though her co-worker’s area hadn’t seen traffic in over half an hour.

Fixing a smile she hoped was genuine, Rey attempted to take drink orders over the sounds of a cell phone conversation and three screaming toddlers. She explained that they didn’t offer a kids menu with crayons because they were a brewery and didn’t often serve children.

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” the head of their party sniffed. “What’re they supposed to do in the meantime?”

Rey’s eyes glanced over the two nearest kids, who had managed to knock over the condiment display. “I can bring some chips and dip out!” She offered. It had worked with the other tables thus far, and would keep the children’s hands occupied for a few extra minutes before one of them decided to eat the contents of the salt shaker.

Two minutes later, the line cook was laughing at her. “You and those damn chips,” he said, wiping his hands across his apron. “Wanna get me a bowl while you’re at it?”

“You wanna get my orders out for tables four and six?” Rey snapped back as she exited the kitchen. She could hear the cook laughing at her, but she was too busy to think about him any further. She marched past the mostly-empty bar and returned to the table of rowdy kids.

“I hope there’s more than that,” Rey heard the mother mutter as she set the two baskets down. Rey resisted the urge to say something. “Are we ready to order, or would you like a—“

“We need more time,” the father interrupted, waving Rey off like a handmaid.

Rey felt her patience slipping, but her calm mask of customer service remained plastered on her face. “Absolutely!”

She was marching back toward the kitchen when a man at the bar called her attention.

“Can I get a menu?”

Rey was so taken aback by the request that it took her a moment to snap back into her waitress demeanor. “Of course.”

“Where’s the bartender?”

Rey looked up, and realized the area was empty. A wild surge of anger coursed through her as she realized the bartender was likely scrolling through Instagram in the kitchen. “I’m so sorry about that, he must be on break. I’ll get you situated right away.”

She glanced back at the patron and realized she recognized his face. It was the jerk son from the Farmer’s Market.

“Miss? _Miss_?”

Rey’s attention was drawn back to the table of nine, and she saw that the father was snapping at her like a dog.

“We’re ready to order now—“

Rey’s gaze found the Skywalker son’s, and her face must have given her away because he just shook his head.

By the time Rey took the orders for the large party and brought out the very late plates to tables four and six—and covering for her co-worker’s fifteen minute break while she went outside to suck down as many cigarettes as possible—Rey realized she had forgotten all about the man at the bar.

 _Fuck,_ she thought, hurrying across the restaurant to the bar. She half-hoped he had just left so she had one less problem to deal with, but he was slouched in his chair, eyes fixed on some baseball game playing on the television.

“I am _so sorry_ ,” Rey told him breathlessly, wiping a strand of hair from her face. Then she realized she hadn’t even brought a menu with her. Frustration and embarrassment threatened to crush her, and Rey wondered how much more of this night she could take.

“No menu,” the man told her, sensing Rey’s distress. “Just a beer.”

“Of course,” Rey said, hastily wiping her cheek over her shoulder. “What would you like?”

“Anything red or amber.”

Rey stepped behind the bar, keenly aware that she did not have a bartender’s license and that she had no business being back here. But the cook and the bartender were too busy smoking pot in the alleyway and it wasn’t like the seventeen-year-old hostess was going to start pouring drinks…

Rey scanned the taps for something familiar. She had watched the bartender pour drinks a thousand times, so how hard could it be? She filled the glass, careful not to get too much foam, but then overfilled the sides. She wiped it down hastily, setting it on the coaster. “I can get you another if it’s too messy—“

“No, don’t worry about it.”

It was finally an hour to close, and the restaurant was emptying out. The large party left Rey with a single dollar as a tip, and tables four and six—obviously unhappy with their long waits—gave her the minimum polite tip of ten percent. She cleared the tables, inwardly fuming at her stupidity to come to work tonight. Four hours wasted and she would be lucky to break even by the end of the night.

After a quick cry in the pantry, Rey scarfed down a small basket of fries and returned to the bar.

“Can I get you another?” She asked. The bartender had not returned, and Rey doubted he would.

The Skywalker son seemed to consider it, but shook his head. “Nah, that’s all right. I won’t make you run around anymore.”

“It’s really all right,” Rey insisted, embarrassed that her miserable night was so obvious.

“Is your kitchen still open?”

“No, not unless you want chips and salsa.”

He shook his head again, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He handed Rey a single bill, then added, “Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” Rey managed. She couldn’t keep eye contact; her shame was too great and this stranger’s pity wasn’t helping. She cleared her throat. “Have a nice night and come back again!” She managed in a voice an octave higher than normal.

Rey refused to count her cash tips that night; there was no way she would tip out the worthless kitchen more than she had to. She clocked out and drove home, resisting the urge to cry until she was in the shower. She would prefer to cry in her bed and feel sorry for herself there, but her roommates would be home and the bathroom was the only real source of privacy on a Sunday night.

Instead of heading straight home, Rey swung by the local CVS and then decided to have a real pity-party and stop by Taco Bell for a late night dinner. While standing in line, she was soon joined by a familiar face.

“Rough night?” Finn asked, dressed in his officer’s uniform. His shift must have just started.

Rey snorted, a sort of half-laugh, half-sob that she tried to stifle with her hand. “Not my best,” she finally allowed. “Where’s Jessika?”

“Car,” Finn replied easily. Jessika Pava was Finns’ older and more experienced partner. “Yeah, the Sunday night crowd is the worst,” Finn said, looking over the illuminated menu.

“They _are._ ”

“Families. Church-goers. Don’t even get me started on the old folks. Bunch of degenerates.”

Rey cracked a smile in spite of her determination to feel sorry for herself. “You know who I waited on? The Skywalker’s son, the one whose dad died.”

“Oh?”

“And I bet he thinks I’m a fucking idiot because the hostess forgot to get him a menu, and then _I_ forgot, and the stupid bartender was MIA, so I had to pour his beer myself, and I fucked that up—“

“Are you ready to order?”

They had reached the front of the line.

“Er, yeah, I’ll take two Crunchwrap Supremes, the Potato Griller, and six tacos. Crunchy. And whatever she’ll have.”

“Finn—“

“Hey, protect and serve, baby,” Finn teased, pulling out his wallet. “Plus if you’re here, I’ll bet that place didn’t even feed you properly.”

“I had fries,” she admitted.

Finn shook his head. “Despicable. No protein. But you’re still not paying. I know you won’t fight an officer.”

Rey’s face finally cracked into the first true smile she had worn all night. Her heart feeling much lighter, Rey returned to her car with dinner and drove home without crying.


	3. Cruel Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much angst in this chapter.

Luke and Ben were amicable to each other the handful of nights they all ate dinner together, but otherwise avoided each other. It wasn’t hard; there was so much to do on the farm with the calving season coming to a close, the farmer’s market beginning, and all the usual tasks of running a beef farm.

Leia agreed to sit down with Ben for some quick accounting and they decided they could afford to hire two seasonal employees to help Luke and Chewie with the deliveries and on-site errands. The actual processing of their meat was contracted out at a nearby stockyard, for which Ben was grateful. Even though he grew up on the farm, he could never stomach the smell.

Leia busied herself with the goats, skimming milk and pressing cheese. When that wasn’t enough, she repainted the shed, then the barn. She tilled the small garden despite not using it in several years, following Ben to the next week’s Market day so she could fill the soil with seedlings. Once that was accomplished, Leia deep cleaned the oven. It was when Ben found her bug-bombing the garage and talking about finishing the basement that he realized his mother might be losing her mind. She slept for maybe four or five hours a night, working herself to complete exhaustion until she finally collapsed some time around midnight. She was up before anyone else each morning, heating up the gifted food and pacing the kitchen until the first signs of light appeared in the window.

“I want her to keep busy,” Ben told Chewie one morning as they were driving through the pasture to check on the calves. “But I think this is too much. She says she sleeps but I haven’t seen her do it.”

“She’s still processing,” Chewie told him, adjusting the gears to the ancient truck. He had a cigarette wedged between his lips as he spoke. “Without your father, I think she’s worried about all the extra work on the farm.”

“But that’s why we hired Nick and Christian.”

“Grief never makes sense, does it? I think once the funeral’s over, it’ll feel real. And that’s when we’ll be missin’ the time she was up and keepin’ herself busy.”

“Yeah…”

“I know she’s glad you’re here,” Chewie added.

Ben looked at Chewie before returning his gaze to the window. “I know.”

“I don’t think you do—she’s missed you an awful lot since you left. We all did. But you’re grown, now, and you’ve gotta find your own path in life. But that don’t mean the house didn’t feel real empty without you around, playing your devil music.”

Ben managed a thin smile at that. Chewie had never minded Ben’s taste in music; Han tolerated it, but Leia hated it and made sure to complain every time.

The truck clamored over the hills, following the familiar path carved by time. 

“I was asked to put something to you,” Chewie said, careful to keep his eyes on the dirt road.

Ben waited for Chewie to continue, but there was only an awkward silence. “What’s that?” He finally said.

Chewie stole a sideways glance at Ben before turning his gaze back around. “Uncle Luke.”

A cold hand seized Ben’s heart, squeezing tight. “What about him?”

“Well, you know he’s been coming ‘round the house, keeping your mom company…” Chewie sighed, unhappy with the favor that had been asked of him. He was a giant of a man, tall and broad across every plane, but in this moment he seemed to shrink. Uncle Luke was a sore topic for most of the family, but for Ben he was a source of guilt and unbearable anger. It had been easy to avoid Uncle Luke’s name in the quarterly phone calls and Christmas cards, to pretend that the painful events that tore their family apart were locked neatly in the past. The quiet dinners in the Solo-Skywalker house were tolerable only because everyone agreed to the same script, to become actors pretending that everything was normal while the stink of death paraded around them, seeping into the sunken cushions of Han’s favorite chair and the boots he left by the door.

“She wants you to get along,” Chewie finished, getting straight to the point. “Your uncle’s been coming ‘round the house a lot more these days—before the accident—and your mom would like everyone to make peace. Let things settle, you know,” he added pointedly. “Be a family.”

Ben stared out the windshield, his head resting against the window while fingers worked at the tension behind his eyes. He was irritated that Chewie was chosen to bring this request, and especially irritated that his mother put the responsibility of peace on Ben. It wasn’t his fault—

White hot anger flared in his chest. Ben closed his eyes, trying to breathe.

_It’s not my fault!_

“All right, kid?”

Ben worked his jaw, trying to stamp his anger back down. “So what does she want?” He asked, a cold mask of indifference wrapping around him like a wall.

Chewie sighed, annoyed. “Come on, you know what she means. She wants us to act like a family what with so few of us left, and you living so far away…”

The truck came to a stop and Ben climbed out as if the cab were on fire, sucking all the oxygen out of the air.

“Hey—“

Ben turned toward Chewie’s voice, ready for another heaping of blame to fall on his shoulders. Chewie extinguished the stub of his cigarette before climbing out of the truck and taking his long, heavy steps toward Ben with a thumb tucked into his belt. “I talked to Luke, too. This isn’t all on you—“

Ben’s thoughts shifted toward the awkward conversation with Luke in the kitchen from the week before. “Right. We’re all adults. We can all get along.”

Chewie wasn’t swayed by Ben’s sarcasm. He fixed the younger man with a serious expression that was compounded by his heavy brow and intimidating size. “It wasn’t fair to blame you for what happened. You were just a kid. It could’ve happened to anyone. Okay? We all know that.”

“Does Uncle Luke?” Ben asked petulantly, squinting as the wind picked up around them.

Chewie sighed, frustrated. “He was wrong to blame you, but the man just lost a kid—there’s no sense in that kind of grief.”

Ben swallowed the lump in his throat. He just wanted this conversation to be over. There was a risk of opening old wounds by returning home, but this was beyond Ben’s mental fortitude. Suddenly he was sixteen again, hiding in the cow pasture to avoid his family and Uncle Chewie was sent out to collect him…

“I came back for mom, so… whatever she needs…” he finished lamely.

Chewie sighed again, but this time it was sad. “I know it ain’t easy—“

“It’s fine.”

Chewie adjusted his weight, squinting across the cow pasture. “Y’know, I think your mom hopes that things can go back to the way they were before… before all this,” Chewie added, waving a hand toward the empty space around them. He adjusted his weight from one foot to the other, fixing his gaze on the ground by his feet. “I know your dad wasn’t always around—he didn’t know much about bein’ a father—but Luke was always there. Not to take his place, but… he was there. And now that your dad’s gone—look, just give him a chance, all right? Luke wants to make this right.”

Chewie bit his lip, one eye squinted shut as he studied Ben for a moment longer before accepting the answer in front of him.

“Right…well, let’s see how that calf’s comin’ along.” He walked past Ben, leading the way through the still-wet grass. Ben remained behind for a moment, his eyes passing over the miles of pasture surrounding them. Suddenly the farm felt very small to him, and the bright clear sky exposed all his sins.

 

* * *

 

 

Rey was sitting at the kitchen table, carefully sorting her money and referring to her most recent bank statement. She had small designated piles around her, one each for rent, her grocery allowance, her phone bill, tuition savings, and general savings. She was working out how much she could afford to send her parents this month without stretching herself too thin. She was really hoping to save up enough money on the side to buy a laptop for school; currently she was stuck using the library computers for all her schoolwork. Between the Farmer’s Market work—which paid cash—and two extra shifts each week at the hospital, Rey should be able to meet all her financial goals before September.

Rey looked back at her cell phone, remembering her promise to call her parents back today.

Her mother picked up, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Your father’s out,” was all she said when Rey announced herself.

“How was his birthday?”

“Fine.”

“Good. Hey, listen, I’m going to send something extra in the mail, but it’ll have to wait until after Friday,” Rey said, switching the phone from one ear to the other.

“Mm-hm.”

“So how is everyone?”

“I said we were fine.”

“Well, I’m good,” Rey volunteered. “I’m taking a class this summer, and if I do well I should be on track to apply for the nursing program in the spring.”

“Huh.”

“Work’s all right. I got another job at the farmer’s market. My friend Finn—you met him the last time I came over, he drove me—well his family owns a farm and I’m in charge of their booth here in town. It’s pretty early in the season so I’m mostly selling flowers and seedlings, that sort of thing, but they pay me ten dollars an hour.”

“I thought you were working at the diner.”

“The restaurant,” Rey corrected. “And I am, usually on the weekends. And then the hospital two nights a week.”

“That’s it?”

Rey frowned, taken aback. “That’s it?” She repeated, not understanding.

“I just thought you was working more.”

“Well, my hospital shifts are twelve hours each, and then I usually get about twenty hours at the restaurant, more if someone’s out.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Used to be thirty.”

“Well, that was before I got the hospital job, ma.”

“It was tipped, though.”

Rey faltered for a moment. “I really am working as much as I can, ma, it’s just that I’ve really got to focus on school now. I’m done with all the basic classes like English, and I’m retaking chemistry in the fall because I didn’t do so well. You need top grades to get into the nursing program. And once I graduate I can move back to Hartford and I’ll be making _so_ much money, you and dad won’t have to worry anymore.”

“If you think so…”

A long silence settled between them.

“I oughta get going,” Rey’s mother said. “My shift starts soon…”

“Oh! Oh, no problem—I’ve got to get some studying done before work tonight. Maybe I’ll try calling dad tomorrow.”

“If he’s home.”

“Right. Okay, well I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay.”

The line went silent. Rey set her prepaid cellphone down, tapping her fingers against the table. She picked it up again a moment later, typing out a text message to Finn.

_What’s your schedule next week?_

Several minutes passed before her phone dinged with a response.

 _M,T, off wed-fri, then Sat. All 3_ _ rd _ _._

_Can I ask a HUGE favor???_

_Lol ok._

_Can you drive me to Hartford next week? It’s dad’s bday. I’ll pay gas & food & listen to your music._

There was a delay before Finn’s response, and Rey could tell he was hesitating. He would do anything for her, but she knew how he felt about going to Hartford.

_Do they know you’re coming?_

Rey hesitated before replying. _No it’s a surprise._

_And you don’t think they’ll turn you away again?_

Rey let out a sigh through her nose, trying not to be annoyed. _I just have to drop something off._

_More money?_

_NO._

It was a lie. Rey felt bad deceiving her best friend, but Finn judged her parents too harshly. He didn’t know what it was like to grow up as poor as Rey had. She might not be close with her parents, but she still had a responsibility to take care of them.

_I can take you wed night or Thursday. No gas $$ use it for school young lady._

Rey’s face broke into a wide smile as she typed out a reply.

_Thank u officer what’s your badge # I’m calling the Chief._

_You do that I’ll arrest you._

 

* * *

 

For the first time since arriving, the old Skywalker house was completely empty except for Ben. Leia and Luke had driven up to Sioux Falls for some errands while Chewie took the seasonal hires on delivery runs. Ben had opted to stay behind, offering to catch up on some much-needed accounting for the farm. He spent most of the morning organizing receipts, half of which were in his father’s scratchy handwriting and made almost no sense: _Capaldi Fam: $$ two acres; Dillon Wray inv $95; tractor parts._ Ben eventually figured out the first receipt was a record of purchasing two acres’ worth of feed from the neighbors while Dillon Wray had ordered $95 worth of product nine months ago. He never figured out what “tractor parts” could translate to in terms of finances.

It was strange reading his father’s handwriting, auditing the poorly-kept records and trying to make sense of Han’s bookkeeping style. This had all made sense to Han, but he had never thought to explain any of it to the rest of the family, and now he was gone.

In fact, everything Han left behind was up to Ben and Leia to sort out. He never wrote a will or indicated his last wishes beyond a flippant comment about cemeteries being creepy. Perhaps he thought he had years before he needed to consider it. Either way, Ben was left trying to figure out what his father would have wanted, and the creeping realization was that Ben didn’t really know his father at all. He knew Han liked to tinker on junk cars, smoke Marlboro Reds, play the guitar when he had a few too many drinks, and had a soft spot for the family pets. He wasn’t talkative per say, but he could tell a good story. These were all things anyone could say about Han, Ben realized, and yet they were all he really knew about his father.

In Ben’s quest to sort the boxes of loose papers and receipts that cluttered Han’s old study, he found two different folders of divorce paperwork, half-filled out by his mother, dated 1993 and 1998. There were old vet records for the two work horses that used to live at Skywalker Ranch, a dozen manuals for various car models, and a ledger of sales maintained by the old Skywalker patriarch dated 1974-1975. The desk drawers were crammed with used receipt books, empty Marlboro Red packs, dried up pens, and far too many screwdrivers than made sense. There were envelopes of old bills, tax documents for the farm, and notes that would only make sense to Han, hastily written in his scratchy handwriting.

On top of the desk was a single picture frame, gold and tarnished, with a faded photo of a teenage Leia leaning on the hood of Han’s old 1968 Ford. Wedged into the corner of the frame was a Polaroid of eight year old Ben and Han, each holding up a fish and smiling widely. Ben examined both photos closely as though they held secrets he had missed before, signs that would indicate his family was destined for collapse and heartbreak…

Scribbled on the back of the Polaroid was Leia’s handwriting in clear blue ink: _Ben and Han, 1998. Ystn. River._ This was a long family vacation in the middle of summer between third and fourth grade, where Han had purchased a Winnebago from the neighbors and they drove all over South Dakota, Montana, and northern Wyoming, and even made an impromptu stop at Yellowstone National Park. This trip was after two years of particularly brutal fighting, and was supposed to reconcile them. Ben couldn’t remember a time where Han was so cheery and Leia so relaxed; all their cares had been left behind in Vermillion. Han let Ben drive the family VW bus while Leia napped in the backseat with Artoo, the puppy Han had surprised Ben with two Christmases before to make up for the fact that he had been staying at Chewie’s place for the last three months. It had been a glorious summer, full of promise, but like all the good times in the Solo household it was soon marked by a dark cloud. The winter frost came early and half the season’s calves died, followed by the death of Leia’s aunt and then her best friend, both cancer. Han sold the Winnebago to pay for the extra feed, followed soon by the VW bus after the pipes in the basement froze and burst.

Ben tucked the Polaroid back into its place, leaning back in his father’s chair.

Somewhere in the house the landline rang, echoing five times before the answering machine picked up.

“Hi, this message is for Leia Organa-Solo, this is Richard Stevens from the Clay County Coroner’s Office. It’s about… quarter past three. We’re open ’til five, and open again tomorrow at eight. You can call my office directly…”

Ben let the message play to silence. He suddenly felt out of place in his father’s office, as though he had accidentally stumbled into someone else’s house.

The distinct sound of a car traveling up the gravel driveway made its way to the house, followed by muffled voices and the sound of the front door opening. Luke and Leia had returned, the latter searching the kitchen and then the living room for Ben.

“In here,” Ben replied to Leia’s call.

She appeared in the doorway, crossing her small arms across her chest as she took in the room, as if for the first time.

“Your father spent so much time in here,” she said. “When he wasn’t outside, this was about the only room in the house he could stand. Probably because you and I were never allowed in it.”

Ben gave a thin smile at her joke.

“The memorial’s been scheduled,” Leia said, her voice almost as heavy as her heart. She leaned against the desk, her eyes fixed to the floor. “June first, here at the farm. Strumeyer Mortuary has a space, but I think your dad would have found it depressing. The coroner’s office should be calling today or tomorrow—they’re finally releasing his body.”

“There’s a message on the machine.”

“I think there’ll be quite a group; he had so many friends,” she mused, her gaze now traveling to the window. “I’m thinking we do it outside, on the lawn. It should be nice outside.”

Luke appeared behind her. His gaze caught Ben’s, but Ben chose to ignore his uncle, keeping his attention instead focused on his mother. “What do you need from us?”

Leia waved a dismissive hand.

“Mom—“

“Leia, let us help you,” Luke said, leaning against the doorway. “There’s no reason to do this alone.”

“I just—I know Han, I know that he would hate to have flowers, or a priest, or a bunch of people crying over him—“

“So we don’t have those things,” Luke interrupted. “But there’s other parts we can help with. The notices for all the people who want to say—to pay their respects. There’s the food. Probably tables and chairs, that sort of thing.”

Leia turned to Ben suddenly. “I want you to give a speech.”

Ben looked up sharply, waiting for his mother’s request to bounce around in his head. “Oh.”

“You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t think you wanted anyone to. That’s not really dad’s thing.”

“Someone from the family should say something, and I don’t think I can do it,” Leia said gravely, crossing her arms tighter and frowning. “And I don’t want a bunch of people standing up and giving speeches and going on forever. I just want one person to say something kind, and I think it should be someone in the family.”

“Okay.” Ben fought to keep a reluctant tone out of his voice.

“Chewie agreed to play one of your father’s songs,” Leia continued. “I think that’ll be enough. I don’t want it to drag on, your father wouldn’t care for it. Then we’ll eat, and… share memories.”

A long silence followed this announcement as Leia had nothing more to share and Luke and Ben didn’t know how to talk to each other. Leia had been the rock among everyone in the family and now she was the one in need, the one who was determined not to drift away in a sea of agony and grief with only her ill-equipped son and brother to hold her afloat.

“About Saturday,” Leia finally said, her thoughts returning to the present. “Ben, are you still planning on going to Sioux Falls tomorrow?”

Ben nodded.

“Good. Luke, I want you to go with him.”

Luke and Ben’s eyes found each other from across the room, neither daring to react first.

“This is exactly what I mean,” Leia snapped, looking between them accusingly. “There’s no good reason why you two act this way—we’re a family, and it’s damn time the both of you start acting like it.” With that, Leia marched out of the room.

Ben fixed his gaze on the framed photo of his mother so he didn’t have to look at his uncle.

Luke cleared his throat, and began hesitantly. “We should talk.”

Ben half-shrugged, still staring at the photograph. “About what?”

In the distance, Leia’s footsteps faded as the mud room door opened and slammed shut.

Luke sighed. “You tell me.”

Ben turned around in his father’s chair to face Luke directly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He waited a moment, his mind running through a thousand things to say. Should he plunge head-first into the forbidden subject, drag up a decade’s worth of repressed anger? Ben had practiced this moment a thousand times in his head, picking at the ugly wound over and over again until he barely recognized it. He wondered if Luke did the same. What did twelve years bring for his uncle? Had he forgiven Ben, or was the decade that passed heavy and bloated with blame?

“Did you see gas prices went down?” Ben asked conversationally.

Luke gave an exasperated sigh, standing up straight and uncrossing his arms. “Ben—“

“Well, what did you want to talk about?”

But Luke couldn’t do it, either. He couldn’t cross the void that had settled between them, separating uncle and nephew. He glared at Ben, the weight of sorrow settling in the fine lines of his face. Finally, he spoke. “I know your dad would want a short speech—just a sentence or two—but this service is for your mom, so you should think about her when you write it.”

The two men stared at each other.

A thousand thoughts ran through Ben’s head, all irritated at his uncle’s insinuation that he would write a shitty speech. It was another opportunity to fight, and perhaps if they were both heated and throwing barbs, one of them might finally mention Jaina’s name.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ben replied coolly, turning his attention back toward his father’s cluttered desk.

“I’m driving tomorrow. I’ll be here half past six.”

Ben didn’t answer.

“You wanna stop for breakfast on the way or should I eat first?”

“Whatever you want.”

“It’s just a question. Pick one.”

“Heads.”

“Christ, Ben,” Luke muttered under his breath. He slipped away, following Leia’s footsteps.

Ben immediately felt guilty for his impetuousness, but he couldn’t stand the niceties with Luke. It made him think about the huge hole in his chest, the one that was his own fault, and Ben frequently lashed out to protect himself. The last real conversation the two of them shared was twelve years ago, just before Ben ran for his life across the farm and Luke chased after him. How could there be any meaningful talk after that? Ben preferred the blows over his uncle’s cruel words back then, and he’d probably prefer them now. They couldn’t talk about Jaina, not when there weren’t words in any language to describe what happened that day and every day thereafter.

 

* * *

 

Rey normally looked forward to the weekend and her day at the Farmer’s Market, but this time she was eagerly waiting for the days that followed. Finn agreed to drive her the hour or so to Hartford as she didn’t trust her own car to make the drive. He kept stealing sideways glances at Rey all morning, knowing deep down that she wasn’t being entirely truthful about her business in Hartford, but choosing not to argue about it.

The morning was warm and breezy with thick clouds rolling overhead. The crowds were never quite as big as opening weekend until late July, and so Rey found herself with enough downtime to work on her Dosage Calculations practice quizzes while Finn answered questions or offered the customary small talk.

“I’m going to bomb this class,” Rey commented miserably, checking her answers against the key.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to study here—it’s so loud. And all the bees,” Finn added, swatting one away from his face.

“It makes sense in class, and in my study group, but the moment I’m alone it’s like I’ve suddenly forgotten how to do math. And read. And everything else.”

“Think maybe you’re putting too much pressure on yourself?” Finn suggested. “The entrance exam for the police academy was the same—you overthink it, you trick your brain into second-guessing what you already know. Y’know?”

“I guess.”

“How about some lunch?” Finn suggested. “I wanna try that taco truck down the way.”

“You go ahead, I brought lunch.”

“You brought a can of Spaghetti-O’s. That’s not brain food.”

“Sorry officer, what lunch law did I break?”

Finn opened the cash box and handed Rey a crumpled bill. “Take a nice long walk, buy yourself food with actual protein in it, and on your way back, I expect tacos.”

“Finn—“

“You’re bad for business, you’re even making the sunflowers sad, which I didn’t think was physically possible, but you learn something new every day. I recommend stopping by the membership desk; Poe brought his new puppy to entice people to donate. You don’t need to donate, you just need to pet the puppy. You’re gonna take a loooong walk,” he added, pushing Rey away from their table. “Pet the dog, have lunch somewhere. Walk some more. Maybe go for round two on the puppy. Then the taco truck, then you can come back. After that I’ll consider letting you think about math, but not a moment before.”

Rey was mildly annoyed about being kicked out of their booth, but the market traffic was slow and she hadn’t made a round by the other booths since opening weekend. She briefly considered spending Finn’s lunch money on some hot pepper starters and a lavender soda in revenge. Most of the booths were filled with early-season produce, marked by brightly colored signs and sorted in neat baskets. Rey made her way to the membership desk as directed, but Poe and his new puppy were surrounded by giggling college girls. She hesitated, debating if the chaos was worth it (it was a cute puppy) before back-tracking and heading into the depths of the market.

Rey found the taco truck and joined its long line for lunch. It was too soon to head back to her own booth, and so Rey decided to claim one of the remaining park benches for a solitary meal.

She ate slowly, watching the market patrons mull about, sitting on the lawn with their mixed purchases. Rey associated the market with work; she had to be up at six to help load the truck and drive back into town to set up, then drive back to Pasque Valley Farm to return the truck. She often wasn’t home until six most weeks, which meant Saturdays were a giant blur. It was nice to sit down and actually enjoy the market the same way a guest would.

“Mind if I take this seat?” Rey looked up, shielding her eyes to see a tall figure standing nearby.

“Absolutely,” Rey replied instantly, scooting over unnecessarily and pulling her food into her lap.

It wasn’t until the man was seated that Rey realized she knew him. It was the Skywalker son, the same one she had given terrible service to at the restaurant last week. He sank into the bench, copying Rey by sitting as far on the edge as was comfortable. He looked up and caught Rey’s eye, then said hastily, “I’m Ben.”

“Rey.”

There was an awkward air of expectation between them, so Rey wiped her taco fingers against her jeans and leaned over the bench to hold out her hand.

But he had already turned his attention elsewhere, his arms folded across his broad chest.

“We’ve met before,” Rey added a little loudly, returning to her seat.

He turned back around as though just realizing she was still there. “Right. You work with the flowers and the shitty customers at the brewery.”

Rey didn’t quite know how to respond to his flat affect, so she nodded. “That’s right. And the hospital, too, but hopefully I never see you there.”

He didn’t seem to be listening. He was staring intently at a patch of grass some twenty feet away, brow furrowed. Rey watched him curiously; she knew she ought to mind her own business and return to her lunch, but his request to join her on the bench and then ignore her outright was bizarre and kind of irritating.

“These are great tacos,” she said against her better judgement. “Highly recommend.”

If he heard her, he didn’t show it.

“Have you been busy? It’s kinda slow where we’re at, but it might just be slow in general. We’re lucky to have the Vietnamese food truck across the way, it makes people think about buying flowers while they wait in line for twenty minutes.”

Rey finished her first taco and wiped her mouth and fingers on a napkin.

“At least that rain’s gone. There was a huge puddle in my driveway up to my ankles.”

Rey picked up a few errant pieces of onion and placed them back onto the bed of her second street taco.

“So who’s covering your spot if you’re here?” She asked through a bite.

“My uncle.”

“So it’s true.”

He looked at her, frowning.

“You can talk.”

He looked away, annoyance spreading across his face.

 _So are you just an asshole normally, or is this because of your dad?_ Rey wanted to ask. “So I talked about the market, the weather, and the food. It’s your turn to come up with a topic for our one-sided conversation.”

He turned to her sharply. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Do you always sulk this much?” Rey retorted. “You asked to sit on my bench, I didn’t think it’d be the end of the world to have a polite conversation.”

“I don’t want to have a conversation.”

“No, because scowling is so much better.”

He bristled. “I don’t see why you care.”

“Because I’m having a shitty day and this was supposed to be a nice lunch, and you’re being very rude,” Rey unloaded.

He got to his feet suddenly. “Then enjoy your bench. Sorry about your day.”

Rey watched him walk off, torn between annoyance and guilt for her own poor manners. She let out a deep breath, deflating. Finn was certainly right about her bad mood. As she finished the last few bites of her lunch, Rey wondered if it would be ridiculous to give Ben a second “I’m sorry” flower.

The return trip to her booth required Rey to walk past the Skywalker truck, and she was careful to walk behind a large group so Ben and his uncle wouldn’t see her pass.

 _That’s the idiot that yelled at me for no reason,_ she imagined Ben saying, pointing a long finger at her.

She returned to her table, setting Finn’s lunch down next to the cash register.

“How is it that you look even more unhappy?”

“Is there a type of nursing where I’m not allowed to interact with anyone, ever?”

Finn took his lunch, watching Rey walk around the table and flop into her lawn chair by the truck bed. “Maybe Poe will let us take his puppy for a bit.”

“Aw, fuck!”

He raised a quizzical brow at that.

“I forgot to see the puppy!”

“I forgive you.”

“How can today suck _this much_?” Rey thought aloud. “It’s barely two o’clock, and Saturdays are usually my favorite day.”

“How could you possibly have gotten into trouble? You’ve been gone for like twenty minutes.”

“You remember that Skywalker son? The one whose dad died?”

“It’s the Solo family, but yes. What about him?”

“I yelled at him.”

Finn’s brows knit together. “Why?”

Rey shrugged, throwing her hands in the air. “Because I’m insane? His dad just died, and I yelled at him for no reason. Or maybe the reason was because he was just _there_. _”_

 _“_ Eh, he probably deserved it,” Finn said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve known the family for a long time. He’s known to be pretty cantankerous.”

“Pretty what?”

“Cantankerous. Jessika taught me that word. It means ‘quarrelsome,’ which is another great word I know.”

“What’s a word for being so tired and annoyed at yourself that you turn insane? Oh, and also you’ve forgotten how to do math.”

“Hey, I’ll drop you off early when the market closes. You don’t need to come back to the farm with me.”

“But—“

“No, you need it. I’m not sure there’s a word for your very specific requirements, but I do know a nap will help a lot. Plus you’re working in the restaurant tonight, and I’d rather not arrest you because you murdered a back talking customer.”

“That’s fair.”

“And forget about Ben Solo—in a few weeks he’ll go back to wherever he lives and you’ll never have to yell at him again.”

Rey crossed her arms, letting out a heavy breath through her nose. It didn’t actually matter, but she couldn’t fight the feeling that Ben Solo didn’t like her, and it drove her nuts to wonder _why._ She knew Finn would tell her to get over it, that it wasn’t important or even possible to be liked by every body, but Rey had never thought she could make an enemy at a place as benign as a farmer’s market.

 


End file.
